Waiting for the baby, Johnlock
by They Call Me Mrs. Holmes
Summary: Something new. Waiting for the baby, Mary is pregnant and everyone is looking forward to it. Everyone except Sherlock. Could jealousy be ruling his head? Rated T as I don't know how it will be.
1. Chapter 1

John Watson opened the door to 221B Baker Street and shook the raindrops from his hair; he still didn't know why he had a key as he didn't live there anymore. He jumped up the stairs and walked into the living room, where he found Sherlock Holmes sat in the middle of the floor.

"Uh, Sherlock? You alright?" John asked. He chucked his coat onto his chair and stared at the man. He was sat cross-legged, his eyes closed and his palms facing up towards the ceiling.

"Mmmm…." The man mumbled back. "Tea, please."

John moved away from the man and into the kitchen, where he stopped to marvel at the mess. Empty cups of tea were stacked up next to the sink; next the tower of cups sat dirty petri dishes and scalpels. Take-away cartons and greasy newspapers littered the once clean kitchen. John reached over the mess to grab two mugs, his hand clasped onto something wet, "Baah!" he threw it onto the counter in front of him and stared at it disgustedly. "Sherlock, why the bloody hell is there a liver in the cupboard?" he yelled.

"A case," Sherlock replied. John pushed the liver aside and boiled the kettle. He returned a few minutes later with two cups of tea in his hands, and placed one next to the sofa, which Sherlock was now occupying.

"Is this all you do, just sit around?" John said and collapsed into his chair.

"No, why are you here?" Sherlock asked John.

"I, erm, Mary and I had a fight so I just needed a breather." John could tell how awkward this was for the two of them. John didn't really talk of Mary with Sherlock; it was a topic they both tried to avoid. Once upon a time, before Reichenbach, before Mary, John would have sworn that he and Sherlock had a thing, or at least could have been a thing. But then Sherlock died, kind of, and John moved on to Mary. And then Sherlock returned, and everything became a bit uncomfortable.

John loved Mary, yet he also loved Sherlock, and the problem was that he couldn't tell if he loved them the same way. Sherlock likes Mary as a person, yet he also sees her as the one in the way of John and him. Yet she makes John happy, something that Sherlock could no longer do.

"Ah, yes. How is she?" Sherlock asked blandly.

"Big, she's due in five weeks, so things are a bit tense back at the house."

Sherlock didn't reply, he was secretly glad that John was here as he was starting to get lonely. John shifted in his seat uncomfortably; he felt a need to fill the silence. "I just keep thinking: I'm going to be a dad."

Sherlock swung his legs off the sofa and sat up, "John, I do hope you didn't think we would talk about the baby, I have no interest in children."

"No, no. I just wanted to talk," he said. "What case are you working on?"

"Nothing exciting, not even a murder," Sherlock sighed. John had only just realised that he still wore his pyjamas and dressing gown.

"Sherlock, aren't you going to get dressed?"

"No need. I'm not leaving the flat."

"When _was_ the last time you left here? Jesus, Sherlock" John got up and opened the curtains, blasting light into the dingy flat. "You need to get out and go somewhere, to the shops, to the Yard, hell, go visit Mycroft!"

Sherlock's face contorted into disgust and he got off the sofa to shut the curtains, dulling the room. "I don't need to see anyone, John."

"Sherlock," John was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He sighed and answered it, "Hello?... Oh, I'll be right home now….. Okay…. Bye."

"Go, Mary needs you." Sherlock dismissed him by the turning of his back. John stood and watched him for a moment before picking up his jacket and leaving.

* * *

"Sherlock, where's John? I thought I heard him talking with you," Mrs Hudson's curious voice awoke Sherlock from his slumber. She stood in the doorway and stared at the detective who was lying on the sofa. She wore an apron and held a rolling pin in her hands.

"He left an hour ago."

"Why? Surely he was going to stay longer than a few minutes, I was making a pie."

"Mary needed him; he no longer needs to be at Baker Street anymore, Mrs Hudson."

"Alright, dear, go have some sleep," she sounded defeated. Sherlock didn't blame her, John hadn't been to Baker Street in two weeks, and he was always with Mary. He still text Sherlock but it wasn't the same.

_Jealous?_ Sherlock heard Mycroft's voice in his head. He shook his head vigorously and closed his eyes, falling back to sleep with a frown on his face.

* * *

"Oh little brother, you _miss_ him." Mycroft sat opposite Sherlock in John's chair. He brushed imaginary dust off his navy suit and straightened out his dark tie. He smiled at Sherlock, Mycroft probably thought he looked comforting but to Sherlock he looked as if he was in pain.

"I don't miss him, Mycroft," Sherlock growled. "He's happy off living his new life and I'm fine on my own."

"You need someone to share the flat with, if not to douse your boredom but to at least pay the rent. How are you still living here?" he asked coolly.

"You're helping me, you pay half my rent. And I don't need another flatmate, I'm fine."

Mycroft leant back into his chair, "_I am paying half of your rent?_"

"Yes, which is ever so kind of you," Sherlock smiled.

"That's not the point, you're lonely Sherlock. No one is here to bid to your every waking need, you need a new John."

"I don't need anyone, now get out!" Sherlock yelled.

Mycroft leant on his umbrella and stood up, "Let me know if you need me for anything else."

"Yes, I need you to leave me alone," Sherlock stood up and ushered Mycroft out of his living room and slammed the door in his face. He heard Mycroft turn and walk down the stairs slowly, before bidding Mrs Hudson goodbye and leaving.

* * *

Sherlock picked up a book and looked at the front cover, before placing it down onto the floor again.

_Life is so boring, how do normal people do it?_ He asked himself. Just before he was going to pick up the TV remote he received a text. John.

**_Mary has gone into labour early. We're on our way to the hospital. Do you want to meet us there?_**

Sherlock looked at his phone, before returning it back into his pocket, and switching on the TV.


	2. 2 News about Mary

**The second chapter in one day. wow. Sadly a short chapter, but it had to be done. its an in between bit for the next important chapter. **

**I hope you enjoy it! x**

* * *

"Sherlock! Mary's gone into labour, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson's shrill voice rang out through the house. Sherlock didn't stir from the sofa, where he had lied down ten minutes ago. Mrs Hudson burst through his door panting, her one arm half way through her coat and her other hand clutched her chest. "Sherlock! Get up we need to go to the hospital!" she panted.

"I'm not going."

"What?" she burst out perplexed.

"You heard me, I'm not going."

"Sherlock, why?" she asked softly. "Aren't you happy for John?"

"Of course, over the moon," he replied sarcastically.

Mrs Hudson shifted Sherlock's feet off the sofa and sat down, fixing her coat and staring at the man. "Sherlock, John will still visit you," she soothed.

Sherlock sat up properly and stared at her, "Mrs Hudson, if you think that I'm upset about John having a baby then you are sadly mistaken."

She patted his knee and stood up, doing up her coat and sighing. "I'll give John your love."

Sherlock scoffed and collapsed back down onto the sofa, closing his eyes to try and get to sleep, in the hope of forgetting everything.

* * *

The ringing of the phone woke Sherlock from his slumber. He had fallen asleep on the sofa and developed a cramp in his neck. He yawned and sat up, rolling his neck and rubbing his eyes. His phone had fallen out of his pocket and onto the floor where it rang loudly. He picked it up, "mmello?" he answered gruffly. "Hello?" he coughed.

"Sherlock, it's Lestrade. Where are you?"

Sherlock swung his legs off the sofa, "I'm at Baker Street. Has there been a murder?"

"No, we're all at the hospital. Mary went into labour."

"I know, I have been informed several times," snapped a sleepy Sherlock.

"Well you need to get over here now, it doesn't look too good."

"No, I'm not…."

"Listen," Lestrade interrupted. "I don't care if you feel jealous, or have some negative feelings towards Mary right now. John is very stressed and worried and he could really do with his friend."

"No, why should…."

"Sherlock, so help me God I will send a team of police officers down there to escort you to the hospital."

"No you won't, under what jurisdiction?" he said smugly.

"Sherlock, please. I'm worried about him."

"No, I'm not going," Sherlock said and hung up. He tossed the phone onto his chair and lied back down onto the sofa.

* * *

John slugged sullenly up the stairs and into the living room, he opened the door and glared at Sherlock who was staring back at him. He walked over to his chair and sunk into it, rubbing his head. The bags under his eyes were visible from the sofa, his jaw was set into a frown and his hands shook slightly.

"John?" Sherlock whispered. He sat up and looked at his friend.

"What, Sherlock?" John barked. His head whipped to face the man, where his eyes bore into the blue that looked at him.

"Are you okay?"

John laughed brutally, "Am I okay? Ha. I thought you didn't care."

"Of course I care."

"It would've been nice if you cared last night, when I needed you. When I was at the hospital, panicking, it would've been great to have had you there."

Sherlock remained silent, there was no point in coming up with an excuse, John would see right through it.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked. He got up to sit in his chair opposite John.

"I had a baby girl," John whispered.

"Congratulations. How are they?" he asked softly.

"Terrible."

"Oh."

"So the baby is fine, but Mary is in intensive care. They don't know if she will survive."

"How?"

"She fell down the stairs and hit her head after I came home. I called the ambulance, and they arrived within a few minutes. She was put on a ventilator and once she was stable they got the baby out. But now Mary is in a coma. She has a blood haemorrhage, and they don't know if she will survive. They can either take her to have the blood drained, but if it's too big then they will have to take her off the ventilator and she will d-" his voice caught on the last word.

Sherlock leant forward and placed a hand onto his friend's knee, "I'm so sorry."

"Too late now. They're running another scan to find out the size of the haemorrhage, I should be getting back to the hospital. It falls down to my decision." John got out of his chair and turned his back on Sherlock.

Sherlock rose too, "I'm sorry John. I'm so so sorry." John scoffed and started to walk out of the living room, "Do you want me to come with you?"

John stopped and answered without looking, "Not anymore."

He opened the door and plodded down the stairs slowly; he walked through the black door of 221B and slammed it as he left.


	3. 3 The Hospital

"Mr Watson, I'm so sorry. But there's nothing we could do. As a doctor too, I'm sure you understand what complications took place. She's gone, I'm so sorry."

Sherlock Holmes threw on his coat, and his gloves and scarf. He jogged down the creaking stairs and out through the door of 221B. As always, he was able to call a taxi almost immediately, and was sitting in the back of the vehicle within two minutes. The drive took no longer than ten minutes, yet felt as if it lasted hours. He paid the man and got out of the taxi, only stopping for a few seconds to stare at the large building in front of him before heading inside through the glass doors.

The smell of bleach and cleaning products greeted him instantly, next came the sight of the waiting room. Filled with the elderly and those seeking medical attention, the waiting room was crowded and stuffy. The ebony haired man strode up to the desk in front of the waiting room, and tapped on the glass window softly.

A thin lady with greying hair and prominent wrinkles plodded up the glass window and slid it across. She wore a pink uniform; no doubt it was standard issue. She clutched her thin cardigan around her shoulders, and lifted up the glassed that sat around her neck, which were attached to a chain. She smiled at the man, displaying her laughter-lines and her eyes softened. "May I help you with anything dear?" her voice was barely audible above the moans escaping those in the waiting room.

Sherlock coughed, "Yes. I am here to visit Mary Watson, her husband is a friend of mine."

The lady nodded and turned to her ancient computer, where she typed in the name and waited for the details to load. She scanned the text and sighed. She turned back to the man in front of her and smiled benevolently, "I'm very sorry dear, but Mrs Watson passed away earlier this morning. I believe her husband is still here, if you would like to see him?"

Sherlock took a step back from the desk. _John._

"Are you alright dear?" asked the elderly. Sherlock nodded and returned back to the desk, "He should be in room 237."

Sherlock nodded wordlessly, the woman patted his hand comfortingly before shutting the glass window and returning back to her paperwork.

Sherlock staggered away from the desk and to the lift down the hall. He pressed the button and waited for the lift to arrive.

_Oh, John. _

The detective watched as the doors opened onto a new floor, and stepped out warily. Before him was a long hall. On one side were rooms for patients, on the other were seats in front of a plain wall with no windows and no pictures. Sherlock made his way down the narrow hall, stopping every now and then to check the room numbers.

210.

Sherlock walked further down the corridor, his mind only thinking of one man.

222.

He turned to his right, where the corridor led. Further down the hall he could see some of the seats occupied with familiar faces.

230.

They were oblivious to the newcomer making his way down the hall, oblivious to his soft steps on the squeaking floor.

234.

Sherlock stopped next to the unavailable seats to review who was there. Mrs Hudson's face was buried in a tissue, as she snivelled into it Greg Lestrade patted her back and whispered soothing words into her ears. Next to Lestrade sat a brunette woman. Her eyes were swollen and her cheeks red. She stared at the pack of tissues she clutched in her shaking hands.

Janine.

Lestrade finally looked up from where he sat and blinked several times in denial, "Sherlock?" he whispered. His voice croaked, Sherlock could tell that he may have been crying previously that day.

"Yes, I'm here."

Mrs Hudson looked up from where she sat and smiled, "Oh Sherlock."

Sherlock bent down and smoothed down her hair, she leant into his hand and smiled again. He soothed the distressed woman and looked at Lestrade, "How is John?"

Lestrade shook his head and stared at the door of the room in front of the group, "He came out to tell us the news and hasn't left the room since. I guess you know what happened?"

Sherlock nodded and looked at the other woman, "Janine, are you alright?"

She didn't reply, Sherlock didn't really know what he was expecting, given their past. Sherlock stood and turned to face the door that everyone dreaded. He walked forward and rapped on the door twice, softly.

No reply came from beyond; Sherlock ignored the silent protests coming from Lestrade behind him and pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted Sherlock was so morbid that it physically caused him to stop.

John Watson sat in an aging chair in the corner of the room. He did not look to see the visitor that had entered. His face had aged fifty years, his eyes were empty and no longer held the joy they once always had. His jaw was covered in a line of stubble, and he had gained more wrinkles on his kind face. His whole face was red and swollen, his cheeks were stained with drying tears. His hands were folded neatly on his lap, yet still shook slightly with what Sherlock presumed was a mix of emotions.

This was not the John Watson that Sherlock knew.

The man's gaze never wavered from what lay before him. A hospital bed, occupied by a body. The body was covered with a white sheet, drew all the way up to its head. A pale hand was the only visible part of the body, it lay uncovered by the sheet. The purple polish painted on the nails, was a large contrast to the white of the hand. The most prominent feature of the whole scene: was the ring. The engagement ring glinted in the soft light, teasing the man next to it with the empty promise of a future.

Sherlock stepped into the morose room and shut the door with a soft click. Still the man before him didn't stir, his concentration wholly focused on the occupant of the bed.

"John," Sherlock whispered. He took a step out of the shadows of the room, and looked worryingly at the broken man.

For that was the way that Sherlock would describe him, _broken_.

I'm sorry to anyone who liked Mary, I hope this hasn't changed your opinion of the fic. :) Just a short one again, but I hope you like it! x


	4. 4 Introductions

John cradled the sleeping child in his arms, rocking back and forth gently. Her face was so soft, so pink. She had brilliantly blue eyes, and a few soft blonde curls. John had wrapped her up in a thick pink blanket, and watched as she fell asleep in her arms.

The house was eerily quiet; John had no one to talk to. It was if the whole house had been plunged into depression. It was just him and the baby now, all alone. He stood up and padded over to the crib where he placed her down and tucked her in under a cotton sheet.

Somebody knocked on the door loudly; John silently cursed whoever it was and checked his daughter to see if she had stirred. The baby hadn't moved at all.

John shuffled to the front door and opened it, revealing a tall dark and handsome man. Sherlock.

"Mrs Hudson sends her love," he smiled and lifted up a tin. "And cake."

John smiled with relief and opened the door wider for him to come in. Sherlock strode past John and into the living room, where he stood in front of the sofa. John walked up to his friend and gave him a tight hug, something he had needed for a while. Sherlock was surprised at the contact but embraced John too.

"What's that?" asked John quietly.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock frowned.

"Yes, something hard, on you."

Sherlock blushed, before realising he meant what he had in his coat. Sherlock reached in a retrieved a small yellow teddy; he gave it to John who was standing wide-eyed. "Here. I bought this for her."

John accepted the small toy, "Why?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, "It's what people do when they have a baby. Don't they?"

"Yes, but you're not people."

Sherlock shrugged it off again, and watched John place the delicate teddy into the crib next to the child. John couldn't believe that Sherlock had done that, clearly he had gone to some trouble to get something. Sherlock removed his gloves and his coat and sat down onto the sofa, John walked into the kitchen to make two cups of tea. He returned a few minutes later, after giving Sherlock his mug, and sat down.

"How is she?" Sherlock asked, staring at the crib.

"Great, she sleeps most of the time. Hardly ever cries," John replied.

"Have you named her yet?"

"Yes, I did. I'm not too sure on it though." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Carrie Elizabeth Watson."

Sherlock smiled, "That's beautiful, I wouldn't change it. But how have you been?" he leant forward, looking at his friend with growing concern. John didn't look nearly as bad as he did in the hospital, yet he still didn't look great. The bags under his eyes had lessened, and his face wasn't as red as before. Yet the hurt and the loss were still in his eyes.

"I'm, coping, I think. It's hard, some days I wake up and I still think she's here but…" his voice trailed off.

Just then the baby started to cry, John smiled and got up from his chair to pick the baby up. He looked over at Sherlock, who was staring suspiciously at the child. "Do you want to see her?"

Sherlock nodded nervously, as John placed the small child in his arms. Sherlock looked at the child frowning, causing John to smile.

"How do I make it stop crying?" he asked awkwardly.

"You rock her, be gentle with her."

Sherlock started to rock the child forwards and backwards, and watched as she became silent. She didn't fall back asleep, yet stared into the man's eyes. Sherlock didn't hate children; he just didn't have a lot of experience with them, especially babies. "She has your eyes."

Sherlock looked up at John to see him smile, "Do you think so? She has Mary's hair."

Sherlock nodded, "Yes, she does." He stared lovingly into the child's eyes.

"Wow, I should have you live here, so you can soothe her when she cries," John joked.

Sherlock broke his gaze from the infant, "Yes. Come back to Baker Street," he said in a rush.

John choked on his tea, "Excuse me? I was joking."

"I'm not, come back to Baker Street."

"Sherlock, I don't know whether you've noticed but I now have a ten day old child with me!"

"Well obviously she would come too. Mrs Hudson would care for her when we are at work; I presume you are struggling with child care now. I have touched none of your things that you left behind; your room is still vacant. You could keep her in there."

"Sherlock, the flat isn't exactly the safest place for a child. You have experiments on the go every other day…." John started.

"She's ten days old! They are no threat to her; she can't even sit up by herself. And obviously by the time she is old enough to crawl I will move them all away into my room. There won't be any problems."

John stared open mouthed at him, "I don't know Sherlock…. It's so soon…."

Sherlock stood up and returned the baby back to the crib where she lay peacefully. He then placed his coat and gloves on, "Think about it. I must go, I'm out of opium."

John walked Sherlock to the door, still baffled from their conversation. He opened it and stood on the door way as Sherlock turned around. The detective now was the same height as the new father. Without thinking, Sherlock leant in and kissed John on his lips. It was soft and delicate, a gentle kiss. It left John's lips tingling. Sherlock leant back, "I'm sorry John. That was out of order, it won't happen again." He blushed and looked down at the floor. "But I hope that that hasn't changed your mind about coming back to Baker Street, think about it. I miss you." before John could reply Sherlock turned up his coat collar and marched down the street and into a taxi.

John reached a shaking hand up to his lips, and brushed over where Sherlock had just been. _What the bloody hell?_

**Just to say, I'm sorry to anyone who liked Mary. Yes, I killed her off. I guess its now obvious why... I hope you still like the fic. All reviews wanted and welcome! sorry this is a fast-paced chapter...**


	5. 5 Thinking About Baker Street

"Sherlock! How was John?" Mrs Hudson pounced on the detective as soon as he entered 221B. She followed him up the stairs and into the living room where she occupied John's chair. He carried his bag into the kitchen and placed it on the counter. He had just bought enough opium to last him for several days. The experiment he was currently conducting was turning out to be quite hopeless, yet if he could prove that the drug used was a homemade concoction, then was sure that he could prove who the murderer was. He sat down into the seat opposite Mrs Hudson as she waited for the man to reply. He picked up his violin that had been lying on the floor and plucked at it, his mind focused on other things.

"He's okay, he's coping," he nodded.

"And? How's the baby? What did he name her? Did he like the cake?" she burst out. Mrs Hudson really did care for John and wanted to know if the man was alright. She missed the fact that he no longer lived with Sherlock, she really did think that they were better together.

Sherlock half-smiled, "He's a bit lonely, and still mourns for Mary which is understandable. He named the child Carrie Elizabeth. She is quite small and often sleeps, but is a healthy baby. John wishes me to pass on his thanks for the cake."

"I don't care about the details, what does she look like?" the woman's eyes lit up at the thought of the new child.

"She has blonde curly hair like her mother, and big blue eyes like her father," Sherlock smiled at the memory.

Mrs Hudson clapped her hands together, bringing Sherlock back to reality. "Isn't it wonderful, I hope he'll bring her round soon. I didn't want to bother him so I haven't visited, are you sure he's okay?"

Sherlock smiled at the old woman, "He is fine. Although I should tell you something…." Mrs Hudson lent in, she warmed to the possibility of new gossip. "I have asked John to move back to Baker Street, with the child."

Mrs Hudson leapt up and kissed Sherlock on both of his cheeks, "Oh how wonderful! Both of my boys back under the same roof! And the baby too! How exciting."

Sherlock smiled at her reaction, "And the baby? Would it be alright if she lived here too?"

The landlady nodded her head, "It will be fine! I could look after her when the two of you are out solving crimes. And any mess she makes I'm sure one of you would clean it up."

Sherlock's face twisted with disgust at the possibility of the mess a baby would bring. But he would put up with all of that for John. "Well I've only asked him. He may refuse," Sherlock said.

"I'm sure he won't," she beamed at the man.

They stood staring at each other for a while, before Sherlock broke the silence. "Tea?"

"Ooh yes, of course dear," the lady trotted down the stairs to make some tea and bring it up to Sherlock.

The baby moved her legs on the mat, and smiled up at the man looking down on her. Today she wore a white all-in-one, which had been cast aside as she was being changed. Her small blonde locks hung off the mat, and her dainty eyes twinkled as she watched the man move. John was frowning intensely. He had survived war, Sherlock, killed men, chased criminals and been shot at, yet he still thought that one of the worst things was trying to put a nappy on a baby.

John shuffled about the room, constantly checking that the baby hadn't rolled off the mat. He clutched a clean nappy in one hand, and a small jar of talcum powder in the other. He contemplated whether to call someone, but decided against it, unwilling to risk the embarrassment. John inhaled deeply and set his sights firmly on the child in front of him.

"Right, we can do this. It's an easy enough task, just change the nappy." He looked at the nappy closely, "Is this the front or the back?" he mumbled to himself. John lifted up the baby's legs carefully, and slid the nappy under her bum. He then placed her legs back on the mat and pulled up the front of the nappy. He attempted the stick the sides together, but realised that he would have to pull the tabs first.

After a lot of fuss, John finally succeeded in the changing process and smiled triumphantly. He took the dirty nappy from the floor beside him and grabbed the multiple wet wipes he had used in the job. He quickly ran to the kitchen to bin them and bent down; he dressed the small child back into her outfit and smiled, before realising that some of the buttons remained undone. He fixed the child's all-in-one and picked up the baby placing her back into the cot. He tidied up the remainder of the mess, and picked up the baby again. He chose to lay her down on his crossed lap and switched on the TV.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked the small infant. "Things would be so much easier if your mother was here."

The baby continued to stare up at the man.

"She loved you, you know," he said to his daughter. "I wonder what she would have thought about moving back to Baker Street. I mean, I could help pay the rent, Mrs Hudson could look after you. Mrs Hudson would love you; she's fuss over you all the time." The doctor smiled, "Or is it too soon, should I stay here?" he asked himself. "I don't know, I can't believe Sherlock asked me. I don't think he would be able to cope with the crying, and the mess. And I don't think you would be able to cope with him, with his violin and rampaging boredom all the time. And what was that kiss about?" whereas he directed these questions at his child, he knew that he was really asking himself, an attempt to catalogue his thoughts. "Surely he understands what I'm going through. It's not like I can forget Mary and move on to him, it's ridiculous. I don't know what he was thinking." John blushed at the memory, "But the kiss was very nice, and maybe she would've wanted me to move on? But it's only been ten days, that's way too soon to even be _thinking_ about the possibility of a relationship. But who says we have to have one? Sherlock and I could be friends, at least for a while until I'm ready."

John brushed the baby's soft curls on her head with his thumb, whilst the argument between himself took place. He ignored the news that was on the TV, and wondered what he should do. The idea of returning to Baker Street, and reuniting with Sherlock was so appealing John almost wanted to go now. Yet the man couldn't rid the nagging sensation in the back of his mind, telling him that it was wrong. John didn't know what to do.

**Thank you to all who have followed and favourite the story, I hope you like it! All reviews wanted and welcome! Thanks! x**


	6. 6 The Funeral

John straightened out the cuffs of his black suit and straightened his back, checking his appearance in the mirror. The man's greying hair was combed back, his suit was ironed and his shoes laced up. He turned around to stare at the sleeping baby behind him. She was dressed in a pink dress and in a carrier on the sofa. John rubbed his swollen eyes and picked up the carrier, careful as to not wake the infant. He walked out of the house and locked the door.

...

Sherlock shook his hair and walked down the stairs, he stood in the hallway waiting for Mrs Hudson to finish. The old woman popped her head out of the doorway and smiled at the tall man, who smiled back. The lady's eyes were slightly red, and she clutched a tissue in her hands. She walked back into her room and put on her shoes, standing and entering the hall. She craned her neck, as the man was considerably taller, and took in his appearance. Mrs Hudson really did love Sherlock, and thought he looked so smart. He wore a simple black suit, and hadn't attempted to comb his wild hair. He took her arm and walked out of 221B, locking the door behind them.

...

John drove his old car to the church, the baby sat in the back. He blinked to clear his vision, attempting to rid the tears that obscured his view of the road. He had turned off the radio and drove in silence; it was only a short journey to the church. He pulled up outside and parked the car. He reached into his jacket pocket and checked if the folded piece of paper was still there. Satisfied that it was, he got out of the car and opened the back door, removing the still sleeping baby and locking the car, before carrying her in to the church.

...

Sherlock jumped out of the taxi and held the door open for Mrs Hudson, who swung her legs out of the vehicle. She straightened out her dress and began walking to the church, arm in arm with Sherlock, in silence. Sherlock immediately noticed John's car, and sighed. He had no idea how the man must be feeling. Sherlock and Mrs Hudson walked down the aisle and took their seats at the front. He nodded to Lestrade who was already sitting next to him, and flicked through the booklet that was waiting for him on his chair. Sherlock stared at the smiling picture of a young woman on the front; he couldn't take his eyes off her. Not because he was attracted to her, but he couldn't stop staring.

...

John watched Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, and Sherlock sit down in the front row; he walked from the side-lines to the trio. They all stood up as they saw the man approaching them, Lestrade patted John on his back, Mrs Hudson kissed John on his cheek and took the small child off him. She sat back down with the sleeping baby on her lap, cooing to her and rocking her gently. Once John's arms were free, Sherlock embraced him in a hug. John wrapped his thin arms around the taller man and rested his head in his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, John," Sherlock whispered in his friend's ear.

"Thank you for coming."

"Always."

The men let go and John nodded to the group, before walking to the front of the church to greet the few mourners. Sherlock smiled at the soft child in Mrs Hudson's lap, she looked so much like John.

...

John slowly plodded up to the podium, dragging his feet as he walked. He unfolded the piece of paper he clutched in his shaking hands, and coughed. He looked about the room and smiled.

"Thank you so much for all coming. Where do I start? Mary was a wonderful woman; she was smart, beautiful, caring. She was my everything. She was sadly taken from us, on the wonderful day my, our, daughter was born. So the day will forever have both a wonderful, yet horrible memory. Mary was the best wife I could've ever had; she was patient, loving, funny. She would have been a fantastic mother, yet sadly she never will be." John choked on his tears, "If I could have anything it would be to bring her back, to give her a chance at motherhood, something I knew she would have exceled at. I will never forget her, and I know that our daughter will grow up to be just as amazing as she was."

John nodded and walked back to his seat, his lips pressed tightly into a firm line. His back straight and his head facing forward.

...

The service was short, John cried, Mrs Hudson cried, friends cried. Sherlock remained motionless throughout the whole process, trying to ignore the gut wrenching sobs coming from his friend. Everyone had left, leaving only Sherlock, John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Janine. The five of them had congregated outside of the church, standing under the protective canopy of umbrellas. John was holding the baby with one hand, attempting to rock her back to sleep. She had remained quiet throughout the service, yet she started to cry as soon as it had ended.

"So, John, are you doing anything now? Back to the house for a cup of tea?" Mrs Hudson asked the man.

"Um, okay. I hadn't really planned anything," he said, still staring at the loud infant.

"You can all come back to Baker Street if you wish?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"No, thank you anyway. I actually think I'm going to have to take her back to the house to feed her and change her," John said.

"Well then we can leave it!" Mrs Hudson assured him. "We'll all have tea another time?"

"Sure," everyone agreed.

Lestrade patted John on his back and walked off in the rain, Janine kissed him on his cheek, and left too.

Sherlock turned to Mrs Hudson, "Do you want to call us a taxi?"

"Of course dear," dismissed the lady, receiving the hint.

The old woman walked off to the road, leaving only John and Sherlock. John still rocked the baby who refused to stop crying. Sherlock sighed and took the baby from John, giving him his umbrella. John stared wide eyed at Sherlock as he watched his rock her softly; within seconds the child stopped crying and stared at the tall man.

"How did you do that?" whispered John astounded.

"I read it on the internet," Sherlock confessed. "In case if you did decide to come back to Baker Street. I wanted to be prepared."

John smiled slightly at the touching act, "Thank you."

"Have you thought about it?" pressed Sherlock.

"Yes, and I don't know what to do."

"Come back, I talked to Mrs Hudson, she was delighted at the prospect," Sherlock begged.

"I don't know Sherlock," shrugged John, he really didn't want to discuss this after the funeral.

Sherlock sensed John's hostility and nodded, handing him back the silent baby who had fallen asleep. The taxi turned up and Mrs Hudson re-emerged from the road. She kissed John on both of his cheeks and linked arms with Sherlock, as they walked back to the taxi. Sherlock opened the door for her and let the woman slide in. Sherlock turned to face John, who was still standing next to the church. He nodded and slid into the taxi, watching as the figure of the father grew smaller as he drove further away.


End file.
